


Yours, Loki

by andquitefrankly



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, American Civil War, Epistolary, F/M, M/M, Northern Tony, Southern Loki, dramatic music, historical use of the n-word, i don't know what to tag but i'm super excited because HISTORY, jane foster's an abolotionist, slavery mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3297827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andquitefrankly/pseuds/andquitefrankly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They meet in the summer of 1860. By 1861 the Union is divided and ravaged with war. And in the middle of it is a man writing letters to a man who never answers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yours, Loki

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ancientwinters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancientwinters/gifts).



> Hi! So I volunteered as pinch hitter for request 26! I love history, so I jumped at the chance. Hopefully you like :)  
> Half epistolary, half narrative.

_March 15, 1861_

_Mr. Stark,_

_I had an idea of what to write when I sat, but now find words are quite difficult to find._

_I thought of you the other day, though truthfully, I think of you always. I can picture you now, with that pleased smile at my admission, but I am lonely and you are my sole solace this winter. How had I lived before making your acquaintance?_

_I picture you as I recall you last, laid upon your bed, hair mussed and a lazy smile on your lips. I wish to kiss those luscious petals, pink and swollen. You laugh once more at my expense, and yet I care not a whit. I dream of that laugh, and so you may continue in good conscious._

_Do you miss me as well? You told me you would, but hardly a letter arrives and I can do nothing but doubt._

_Anthony._

_Please._   
  


_Yours,_

_Loki Olson_

* * *

They had met that summer, Frigga insisting they visit her family up in Connecticut, especially now that tensions were high and Lord knew when she would see them again.

Loki agreed for the sake of getting out of the heat.

His grandparents owned a large estate in the coastal town of Stonington, though not as large as the plantation owned by their father, having nearly 30 slave hands, unlike their neighbors who could barely vouch for half.   

Having nothing to entertain him, aside from cousins who asked too many questions, demanding to know why he wore such loud waistcoats, as if it was his greatest sin. He wore them because they were striking, and no other reason, the grey and blacks his brother and father favored washing him out.

So he would escape the house in the early morning, nipping into the kitchen for a bite just as the cock crowed, avoiding the cook who had a tendency to spit on his freshly polished shoes. Running off towards the ocean, climbing hills and rocks, like a true Wildman.

He didn’t care if his cavat was loosened, or his waistcoat flapping behind him as the wind blew. He was away. Far from the disappointed look of his father and the insistent pleads of his brother. Here amongst the sea air, Loki was his own man, not plowed down by the demands of his father’s plantation.

It was on one of these walks that they met.

Loki was stripped down to his drawers, wading his feet into the small lake some good distance from his grandparent’s house, though still on the property. He inhaled deeply, finding the northern air to be much thinner than he was accustomed, when he heard the soft crack of a twig breaking.

He turned his head to find a tanned man with the most unusual mustache he’d ever seen.

“This is private property, sir,” Loki told him, suddenly aware of his vulnerability. There was nothing to stop the man from harming him if he so desired.

The man frowned, shirt untucked and boots in hand. “I am aware,” the man replied. “For this is the property of my good friend, and I had hoped to go for a swim.”

“You have been lied to,” Loki retorted. “For this lake is on my family’s land, sir. And it would gladden me if you left me and this property on which you’ve trespassed.”

The man laughed, not heeding Loki’s request and sitting on the opposite bank of the lake, pulling off his shirt and throwing it over his shoulder.

“Then we share it,” he said. “For I came here for a swim, and a swim I shall have.”

* * *

_March 30, 1861_

_Mr. Stark,_

_While the rest of our Nation grows bold, I too find myself acting in a similar manner._

_Father brought forth another woman, insisting we wed. Her family is an old name, and very wealthy, but she’s not for me, and so I told him. He demanded to know why I was so unnatural. I laughed at that._

_If only he knew the extent._

_He says that Virginia too, will secede, along with the rest of the South. Mother had asked if I had an opinion on the matter and it brought forth your questions and demands. Do I have an opinion? I cannot say I know for certain who is the wronged party, but I do not want to think of us on two separate lands. It was difficult accepting the miles before, but now I feel my heart is torn, along with this country._

_My opinion is that I wish to be with you, and whether there is a war; that will simply reflect the torment in my own heart._

_Last night I remembered our first night together. Do you recall?_

_You took me to your home in New York – such a ghastly city, proof of your wild city ways – and let me walk the halls and touch the furniture as you narrated what our lives could be like if I were master. Whispered promises into my skin, burning them into my soul._

_Unnatural, father says. Unnatural is a rough word, when being held in your arms is the most natural act I have lived._

_I await a word._   
  


_Yours,_

_Loki Olson_

* * *

He allowed the stranger a swim for appearances sake, pelting a small rock at him, causing him to slip into the water as he dodged the projectile.

The man spluttered as he came up for air, his chocolate brown locks dripping down his face. His anger was apparent, yet Loki simply smirked, not caring that he had muscle to use against him should their argument end in blows.

“Are you hurt?” Loki asked, faux concern.

“You think yourself funny,” the man hissed, wiping water from his face, sinking his fingers into the muddy bank and launching it towards Loki who could not dodge in time, falling backwards with a _thud!_ , mud caking his chest.

Loki growled, clawing at the mud and flinging it back at the man. “You arrogant, uncivilized – ”

“I, arrogant? I, uncivilized?” the man repeated, with a soft grin. He settled himself in the water, the sun causing his tanned skin to glow. “I’m simply enjoying my afternoon.”

One of Loki’s greatest flaws was his temper. He fumed as he picked up a medium sized rock, the size of a small dog, tossing it to the man, who caught it on his stomach, the smack of water echoing in Loki’s ears as he gathered his clothes and stormed off.

He prayed the man drowned.

* * *

That evening, Loki was bereft to find that they were dining with their neighbors, more so upon finding the man from the lake in his grandparent’s sitting room, holding a pleasant conversation with his elder brother.

His name was Anthony Stark, from New York, and he was spending the summer in the countryside with an old university friend, and their patron.

“Mr. Banner and I are on a scientific journey, if you will,” Stark told the crowd. “Much to Captain Rogers’ dismay.”

Captain Rogers smiled thinly, Mr. Banner nodding sternly. “I find myself lost in scientific endeavors while you traipse about on the property.”

“You impugn my honor,” Stark replied, falsely insulted.

Loki rolled his eyes, watching the clock with interest, waiting for dinner.

And when dinner was finally called, he found himself seated on Stark’s right, much to the older man’s delight.

“We meet again, Mr. Olson,” Stark smiled. “It might please you to know that my bruised chest aches knowing we are so close.”

“The knowledge is a salve, sir,” Loki replied, ignoring all further attempts at conversation.

Thor, on the other hand, got on splendidly with Captain Rogers and his unruly lot, his booming laugh reawakening a headache Loki had thought he left behind on Asgard.

For weeks afterwards, Thor could not be seen without one of the other men, usually Captain Rogers, with his perfectly coiffed hair shining golden, his perfect teeth in a smile as broad as his shoulders. It made Loki sick to his stomach.

Particularly when he flashed that grin in Loki’s direction, attempting to extend his hand in friendship. Loki had no need for friends, nor company of any sort.

He was content to spend his days alone.

Though he did not spend them as alone as he hoped, Mr. Stark finding him on his wanderings and nattering in his ear.

Apparently, he considered the two of them friends, and thought it pained Loki, Mr. Stark would not remove himself from his side for nothing, unwilling to take a hint.

“You are a nuisance,” Loki told him from where he sat beneath a large oak tree, a book in hand, the long branches and Tony’s own shadow shading him from the sharp sun.

“I am God’s greatest gift,” Stark replied, smiling at the way Loki wrinkled his nose in disgust. “If you truly found me offensive, you would not have stood me this long.” He sat down beside Loki, reading over his shoulder.

“I was hoping you’d realize you were unwanted and leave me alone,” Loki said, turning the page. In truth, he wasn’t reading the novel. He merely needed to seem occupied, and the book was one of the few in his grandmother’s library.

Stark hummed, resting his head against the tree trunk, closing his eyes. “I didn’t know you cared for negroes,” he said.

Loki’s eyes widened, his heart stuttering. “What has brought upon this subject?” he asked, startled by this man, for once.

“Your book,” Stark commented, opening an eye. “Frederick Douglass is very articulate.”

“I don’t particularly care,” Loki said. “I wanted to appear busy, and this was the first book at hand.”

Stark sat up, head quirked to the side. “You do like me.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Stark.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, Loki tossing the book aside, no longer feigning interest.

“You truly have no opinion on the matter?” Stark asked eventually. “Unrest fills the air, and the slave is more than the issue.”

“They work the land, and are happy for it,” Loki replied. “Father gives them firm hand, but never have I seen our negroes need for anything. But everyone wants freedom, and so who am I to get in their way.”

“You’re apathetic,” was Stark’s reply.

“I told you,” Loki said. “I don’t particularly care, one way or another. I will never have Asgard under my hands, and so it is of no interest.”

Stark groaned, standing, his well tailored suit wrinkled and dirtied. “Come with me to New York.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I want you to meet a friend of mine,” Stark told him.

* * *

Jane Foster was a whirlwind, a hurricane who swept you in her storm, only to leave you bedraggled and breathless.

An abolitionist, a feminist, and a scientist, Loki could not help but dislike her. Thor, on the other hand, had fallen in love.

What a different breed of woman she was. All those Thor had met before were demure and soft, while Miss Foster was rough and loud. A true lady when the occasion called, but otherwise, was certain to roast you with her firm criticisms and displeased frown.

“Come with me,” Stark whispered in Loki’s ear one evening, Miss Foster arguing with Thor on how his greatest sin was his apathy.

The two snuck out of the dinner party and into a cab. Loki found that his greatest ally was Stark, though he found him rather strange. He had grown on him, like mold, he would say, much to Stark’s chagrin. But they were rather similar in personality, and found social niceties boring.

If at times, Loki found himself fantasizing of Stark in a different way, of their two bodies pressed against one another, nothing but flesh and hot breath, then that was his secret and his alone.

The cab stopped before a large house, still in the heart of the city, but somehow nestled into an alcove to keep some semblance of privacy.

“Where are we?” Loki asked.

“My home,” Tony answered, unlocking the front door and leading Loki into the dark foyer.

Tony led him down hallways and into room, showing off with nothing more than a dwindling candle. They spoke very little, but the tour felt intimate, as if Tony was revealing his heart.

They stopped at Tony’s bedroom, a fire raging in the fireplace, the only room dusted and free from sheet coverings.

“Do you like it?” Tony asked, setting his candle onto his dresser, his eyes hidden in shadows.

“It’s lovely,” Loki admitted, for all the sprawling rooms in Asgard, nothing felt more like home than this house.

“Do you – ” Tony stopped himself, shaking his head.

He looked up at Loki, taking a step forward. “Would you care to stay here? With me?” he asked.

Stay? Did Tony – and when did he begin thinking of him as Tony, Loki wondered – wish to be by Loki’s side forever? Was their friendship so true as this?

“Be the master of my home,” Tony continued, “such as you have been the master of my heart.”

Loki gasped, taking a step backwards.

“I – admire you greatly, Loki. Dare I say love, as a man ought a woman. Stay with me.”

And for that night, he did.

* * *

_April 13, 1861_

_Anthony,_

_Thor has gone._

_I caught him as he was sneaking out of the house, a carpet bag over his shoulder. He’s gone to Miss Foster, I’m sure of it. Their marriage is inevitable, and if that is the case, send them my best._

_I think this will be the last letter I send, for we are strained here. Father holds us under his iron fist, and laughter is but a memory._

_How I wish I had ignored reasoning and stayed, like you asked. No letters will be forwarded North quite soon, and I can feel the tension in the air, even the negroes whisper it. We too shall secede soon, and then we truly will be apart._

_I wish I was brave enough to run away, or that Thor had taken me with him. But I shall be safe here, if anything._   
  


_Love,_

_Loki Olson_

* * *

**April 20, 1863**

 Tony ran his fingers over the worn word, hundreds of nights spent like this, a gun resting on his shoulder as he rested his poor, battered feet, his boots a size too large to comfortably march or run or stand.

Love, Loki had written and how it burned Tony’s aching heart.

That he should write him and Tony never to receive the letters, believing Loki had forgotten him. When in truth, it was Tony who was the one at fault.

His housekeeper had held the letters from him, finding their relationship corrupt and sinful. He had fired her with passionate words, his fury unleashed. Loki had lived months thinking Tony was nothing more than a liar.

Years now, and nothing from him, but that was expected. There was a war, after all.

“What do we do?” a Private asked, a boy no more than 18, so proud to serve, and now caked in blood and dirt as shell fire flew above their heads.

“Wait it out,” Tony replied. It might seem like the coward’s way, but he hadn’t survived this long by heading face first into danger. He manufactured guns, he was no soldier.

Should he have heed the call to fight? Of course not, but his factory would continue to make the weapons, and they needed someone on the battle field who knew how to wield them. Technically, he wasn’t a soldier.

But that didn’t matter when you wore the Union blue.

They were all soldiers now.

The two spent the night in their ditch, climbing out in early morn, the boy following Tony as he rushed towards the nearest town.

“Are we deserting?” the boy asked, a quaver in his voice.

“We’re looking for help,” Tony responded. “You’re not a traitor.”

That seemed to ease the Private and they continued on in silence, hiding whenever they could, killing any Confederate that threatened them.

They stopped two days later, Tony opening the door to a barn and leading the kid inside. “We’re bunking here tonight,” he told him, throwing himself into a stack of hay.

They had spent many a night in abandoned barns, most plantations and homes abandoned, though there were still a few tough bastards sticking around.

“Corporal,” the boy whispered.

“I told you,” Tony said. “I’m no Corporal. Stark is fine.”

The boy nodded. “Corporal,” he said anyway. “Do you think we’ll survive?”

“What’s your name?” Tony asked, never having bothered learning it before, or listening when it was offered.

“Private Westley Thomas.”

“I can’t say for sure, but I’ll sure as hell try.”

That seemed enough for Thomas who soon fell fast asleep.

* * *

Loki wouldn’t have thought it strange a month ago, but since then they had lost their slaves, run off when Odin was in Richmond to give Davis his strategy for defeating the Union, but he knew that he had closed the barn doors last night.

Truthfully, Loki had done nothing to stop them, nor Frigga. They watched from their windows as they snuck away, bit by bit, one at a time. Their numbers were low, even then, and they saw no point. It was an uphill battle for them both.

He grabbed his father’s rifle from the mantle and ran down to the barn. He could hear the soft murmuring of voices and loaded his gun, quietly opening the barn door and aiming.

“Come out!” Loki shouted, finger on the trigger, not caring if he shot an injured man.

He had seen enough blood, heard enough cries, felt enough fear for one lifetime, and if he had to kill a Union soldier who thought he could find shelter on his property, then he had another thing coming.

With Thor gone, Odin fighting a war with words and strategies, Asgard was all Loki had left, and it was his duty to protect it.

“Loki,” Tony blurted, eyes filled with relief as he stumbled forward.

But Loki kept his rifle raised, pointing it square between Tony’s eyes. “Don’t move, Yank,” he hollered. “I’ll shoot you dead where you stand.”

A young boy looked at Tony in fright, frozen to the spot. “Loki, it’s me. Stark,” Tony tried, offering an uneasy grin to both men with him, in an attempt to console.

Loki felt himself hesitating, his gun wanting nothing more than to lower, but he couldn’t let it fall. “You never wrote back,” he shouted, body shaking. “I wrote you for months. Months and weeks and days.”

“I know,” Tony answered. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

The gun went off and Tony clutched at this chest, his stomach, anywhere, looking for a bullet hole and some blood. He was dead, he had to be dead.

But instead there was Loki with a smoking rifle and a gunshot hole in the side of his barn.

“Oh God,” Thomas breathed, legs as wobbly as jelly.

Tony rushed to Loki’s side, ripping the rifle from Loki’s hands. “Loki,” he repeated. “Loki, look at me.”

“You’re real,” Loki sobbed, clutching tightly to Tony’s hand. “You’re not a dream.”

“No. I’m right here, Loki. Right here.”

* * *

_May 1, 1863_

_Father,_

_I know Mother has left her own letter, detailing our retreat, but I felt it necessary to explain. I’m certain that she promises to return from Grandmother’s once Asgard is safe once more, but I do not._

_I cannot return to a place I have not loved, nor with people with whom I find myself at odds. Thor was the smart one, for once, leaving when he could while I remained trapped._

_We cannot win this war. Or rather, you cannot. I have chosen my side. You may still choose yours._

_Perhaps once your temper has cooled we may see each other again, but I do not plan on it._

_You may find Mother at Grandmother’s. I will not be there._   
  


_Your son,_

_Loki_

 


End file.
